JXHQ: A Piece of Art
by Mrs.Volterra
Summary: JokerXHarley The Joker muses over his Harley Quinn after she has a nightmare. Oneshot. Read and review!


**AN: Another JokerXHarley one-shot! I hope you like it, of course, but constructive criticism is appreciated! Recently, I've been much more passionate about writing and so you can expect more to be coming in. I think I want to restart my Harley Quinn origin story...okay I'm going to shut up now. Have fun reading!(:**

He stared down his long, pointed nose to her sleeping form. As he watched, she pulled the covers closer to her naked body. "Blanket hog," He whispered softly, smirking.

The Joker ran a bone white hand through his vivid green locks, his emerald gaze still locked on his little harlequin. She gasped, eyes flying open with terror.

"Puddin'!" She moaned, her baby blues darting around the room until she turned to where he was laying, watching her panic attack.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong, Pooh?"

Like a child, she pouted those full lips, slightly swollen from their earlier endeavors. Her blonde hair was tied in pigtails. She let loose a sob and threw her arms around him tightly. He chuckled, too quietly for her to hear, and rubbed her back soothingly. Normally, he would have been disgusted and thrown her to the ground, curling his lip at her in distaste, but he was in a good mood. Harley answered with her face pressed into his bare chest, but all the clown heard were mumbles.

"What's that, Harley?"

She raised her tear-streaked face up to look at him fully. "I- I, I had a nightmare. It felt so real…" Another choked cry.

"Oh, baby!" He pretended to be concerned. "Is Daddy's little girl scared?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay." The Joker kissed her, surprising both himself and Harley. His hand continued to make circles on her back. Oh, how he loved the irony. She was scared and turned to him, the Clown Prince of Crime, for comfort. A man who killed and maimed for a living…

Harley Quinn really was a piece of art. When he had first met her, she'd been dull and unoriginal, but filled with so much potential. After he had scrubbed away the light, hazy marks, making her a new, blank canvas, he had gone to work, painting new ideas in her pretty blonde head. Eventually there were just abstract splashes of color. Green, purple, black, and of course, red. Every now and then, there was something else added, like a streak of confidence after spending a day or two with the Plant. But he made sure to cover that right back up, sometimes painting over it with her blood.

In some ways, she was like him. Often he would glimpse a mannerism she picked up from him, but beyond that, she was constantly changing and evolving. She adapted to her environment. She was charismatic- not to the same level as the Joker, but to be fair, no one could compare to his charm and magnetism. She was quick on her toes, metaphorically and literally. She lied well, to everyone except for him. She was a shadow of who he was, albeit a foggy, not quite clear one.

As for being a piece of art, her body was his canvas, too. Before, her creamy skin was perfect, not marred by a single mark or bruise. However, once she finally gave herself to him completely, he took no mercy on her. He was a hurricane, volatile and destructive. Yet she blossomed under his talented hands. He proved to her that red really was her color.

The game was really about control and dominance. She tried to win, she really did, but she was going up against the most dangerous man in Gotham. He enjoyed watching her try. She was a source of entertainment. That was part of the reason he kept her around for so long.

Besides Batman, she was the only one who was able to keep up with him. His Harley-girl anticipated his every want and need, and maybe, in that respect, she was ahead. And she rolled with the punches. In more ways than one. He chuckled to himself. Puns.

And her humor! The former psychiatrist could be quite funny. She was quick-witted and smarter than everyone else expected. She used it to her advantage. Time and time again she was underestimated, despite the obvious fact that she was the Joker's right hand woman and you did not become his most trusted worker by being a fool. She looked good, yes, but her mind was the most attractive thing about her. Her spirit, her soul. They were all his.

His scarlet lips tugged up into a smile. The Joker looked down once again at his most prized possession, who was staring up at him in adoration.

"Oh, Daddy," She sighed, curling into his chest, and he recognized her tone of voice. Dear God, that woman was insatiable! He could smell her arousal like a shark would smell blood.

"Yes, baby-girl?" With her little body pressing against his, he felt how warm she was getting, and he imagined her soft, pink cheeks flushed with pleasure. Inwardly, he cursed as he felt himself respond.

Harley began to plant tiny kisses on his abdomen as she slipped down, down, down. "I'm not scared anymore," She whispered, and he shuddered as a small hand curled around his erection.

"You should be, little girl," He gasped as sensations flooded his brilliant mind. Goddamn…

All of the sudden, she let go jumped out of the bed and announced, "I'm hungry, Mistah J. Want anything?" The expression on her face was innocent, but the twinkle in her eyes was wicked. Such a tease.

"You minx…" He growled.

A wink thrown over her shoulder, and she was gone. He heard her open the freezer.

"Where's the ice cream?!" The blonde screeched, eliciting a howl of laughter from the Joker. A moment later, she was on top of him, tiny fists playfully pummeling his shoulder. He flipped her over and promptly started a tickle assault.

"Noooo, Mistah J, please, stahp!" She screamed with laughter. The Joker ducked his head and blew a raspberry on her stomach.

Perhaps Harley Quinn had managed to add her own artwork to the nearly black canvas of his heart.

**AN: How was it? PLEASE tell me! K, well I'm going to go now. I promise more is on the way! xoxo**


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